Cold Sugar
by TrashWoman
Summary: A response to a TFA Kinkmeme request for an alternate ending wherein Ren doesn't live through the fight with Rey and is found by someone who becomes a little too interested in his remains.


Looking back, Mitaka would think often of this… strangely disastrous and lucky day.

Lord Ren laid out in the snow. Wet scarlet haloing his magnificent body.

Coming closer to check him, still a little wary of the unmoving, obviously badly injured man.

Mitaka crouched. He extended a hand—a trembling hand—to press the man's jugular. Nothing.

Nothing but soft white throat, untensed tendons, then, as he moved the hand up to his mouth-to feel for breathing, to make sure-the light scratch of stubble that would likely never grow again. Indeed, there was nothing at the tantalizing mouth either, not a hint of the hot dragon's breath he had heard in fury. Nothing but full, sticky lips.

Very still. Fascinatingly still. And so much fresh bright blood, like it was meant expressly to set off the dark damp cloth that clung closely to his honed limbs, the hair curly and crow-black and wet from the ground, and what little could be seen of icy skin. His mouth, nose, and forehead well-smeared, his strangely majestic face slashed.

A shudder of… something unwanted… travelled through Mitaka's body. He suddenly remembered Lt. Kessed, laid out handsome and dignified in his immaculate uniform and numerous polished medals, blond hair combed and arranged, not by his own hands. By someone lucky, who'd gotten to touch the cool lean corpse, the fatally gutted belly, see the bruised face before the makeup.

Mitaka had seen Lord Ren uncovered only a handful of times, but he remembered well. Surprised to find the fearsome creature blessed with such an awkwardly well-formed face, such big liquid melancholy eyes. And such a sweet mouth, but a poisonous one, sneering and open in anger.

Terrifying and stunning, at once.

On occasion, he had thought of him during free evenings alone. But Lord Ren was relaxed and lazily submissive in these nighttime reveries, as if drugged or drunk, murmuring in his deep sensual voice, squirming under the slightest caresses, and letting Mitaka ease off his dark layers, letting him put his hands in places he would never in reality be allowed to sully. At first, he had been scared the knight would root out his forbidden thoughts, but soon concluded that he wasn't significant enough to warrant psychic scrutiny.

Lord Ren's eyes were only fringes of long dark lash in his cheeks. Mitaka had liked those lashes since the first time he saw how artfully they curled around his great dark sad eyes, long enough to hide them when they were narrowed in ire or concentration.

He'd closed them before his last breath, maybe knowing what was coming, maybe only wanting to rest.

Rest he would, forever. Mitaka wanted to press his lips to the man's soft, blood-specked eyelids. He ran a finger from the mouth up along the nasty, wonderful gash, the long wound only accentuating the appeal of the face: white serenity, red schism. He traced the fine cheekbones, the long curved line of his strong nose.

"Oh," he heard himself say, all breathy and warm, "you're so… so…"

But no word would come. Beautiful didn't work exactly, nor did divine, though it felt closer.

"I'm going to kiss you," he whispered. He knew he wouldn't be able to help doing it, and it felt right to… seek permission, or at least to announce his intent. This was a… breach of protocol, of rank, though like no breach he'd ever heard of before. "I have to. You're just…"

The first kiss was light and testing. He thrilled at the cold of Lord Ren's wide lips, then went deeper, sliding his tongue in, probing among broken teeth and blood. Oh. The taste was brackish and silky.

He used one hand to cradle Lord Ren's head. His hair was soft as fine fabric where it wasn't knotted up with blood. Deeper, deeper, he kissed him. He braced on his elbows and used his free hand to peel sticky strands from Lord Ren's face, forehead, and boyishly prominent ears. He spent long savoring moments, clearing the salty bloody mouth with his increasingly desperate, sucking kisses. Trying to comb gluey blood from Lord Ren's hair with reverent fingers.

Breathe. Mitaka was staring again now, slack-mouthed, at the dead man's riveting face with that trickling blood streaking over his sharp nose and high cheekbones and closed eyes. Chills in his chest and heat in his face. He could not believe how—could not believe just how enchanting—

Bolder now, he ran his tongue experimentally along the slash dividing his face, soon finding he loved every aspect of his taste of blood and burnt meat, kissing the open flesh where his tongue had laved away the blood, nipping the edges of cauterized skin.

He moved his hand down the front of the knight's tunic, over his solid chest. Once so strong, but so utterly useless now—except for this. Except for his beauty.

The fabric was torn and burnt around a charred and gored-up wound in the side of his belly. It looked aggravated, as if it had been struck. Mitaka's mouth watered and his prick stood hard in his uniform pants. He kissed Lord Ren's neck with closed lips. His eyes felt as hungry as his mouth, his filthy perverted cock.

He took up the knight's large gloved hand, saw caked gore on the knuckles, and concluded with a sudden warm shock, but little lingering surprise, that he'd indeed been digging into his wound or hitting it, perhaps to keep from passing out, or simply to keep focus. He took up the hand and began to lap the leather clean with his tongue. Entranced, he removed the glove, kissed and mouthed at the pale knuckles. Felt as if he were half in love, holding that capable fine hand in his own, massaging the palm and the long fingers as if the man could feel his touch. He heard himself moan in pleasure.

His other hand slid lightly over the bowcaster wound, tugged at the cloth—which was torn at one shoulder, indicating another bloody hole to savor-exposing the pale chiseled abdomen around the crimson-dark ditch, then part of his firm pectoral muscle, and then, then, one dark nipple that felt soft as petals under Mitaka's roaming palm. He wondered if that big juicy wound would still be warm if he poked a finger or two inside it. Shivered at the mere thought.

Where else might he still be warm, where else inside him? Mitaka blushed feverishly to think of that. Even in his fantasies, he had never gotten so far as to contemplate penetration. But he'd glimpsed Lord Ren in his training clothes, and enjoyed the sight of his V-shaped back, thickly-muscled thighs. He'd reddened as his eyes strayed to the high globes of his buttocks. The sinful suggestion of the cleft back there, inviting exploration.

Now he could not help fumbling with the flies on the dead man's legging, wanting to touch those thighs he'd dreamed of, and more. He blushed harder as he allowed himself to anticipate the feel of the knight's flaccid cock, his inert sack. He opened the leggings all the way, using both hands now, then eased them downward, nearly to his knees. The thighs were as he had anticipated, visibly muscled, with little soft dark hairs here and there against the blood-smeared white. He then saw that Lord Ren's grey underpants were soaked, and he scented something sour.

"It's alright," he whispered, drawing a fingertip along the side of the knight's face again, as to comfort.

He used his utility knife to cut away the underclothes, pausing to palm the perfectly-shaped genitals, the delicate shaft. Then he cleaned him carefully with slush, a spare cloth from his bag, and a liberal amount of portable cleanser. He was loathe to acknowledge the little dirty twitch in his cock at how the man's complete and permanent helplessness was driven home by his having to perform these nursemaidish acts. He tossed the ruined underclothes and the cloth away into the snow.

"There. Clean and lovely," he whispered, his mouth against the knight's neck, though he, this, was anything but clean. He took the man's soft prick in his hand again, then bent to suckle the dark sticky blood that had dripped down his thigh. The knight's carnal charms seemed endless.

"Beautiful," he said, finally.

"He is beautiful, isn't he, Lt. Mitaka?" Softly, but archly. Tired. "If nothing else."

Mitaka's head snapped up and he guiltily licked his mouth. He looked back down and to the right, at the blood trail there in the snow, avoiding the half dressed dead warrior in front of him. He made a small gurgling noise.

"What a depraved boy you are." Said with indulgence, as if he had caught him licking sugar from his fingers at the officers' table.

Cold sugar.

Hux cleared his throat. He knelt down next to Mitaka and placed his own hand on Lord Ren's bared thigh, tracing lazily around the place Mitaka had been sucking.

"Let's make him decent again and get him back. Then perhaps, you and I can give him an appropriate farewell?"

Mitaka flushed from his chest to his scalp, and nodded.

Hux began to help him cover Lord Ren with his damp cloak and torn tunic, hiding away that broad white chest and the ridged muscle of the belly, and that—delicious, sluttish-gaping bowcaster wound.

The firm hand on his shoulder once more.

"Come on. We'll have our time with our brave knight."

He finished covering the mesmerizing face, those red lips, the black lashes. Hux helped Mitaka stand, though he did not strictly need to.

They carried him together. When they reached the search group, they laid him with care upon the white stretcher, which was soon stained crimson. The seeping of the man's blood onto the linen made Mitaka giddy.

It was surreal. About to flee a dying planet, his level-headed soldier suddenly smitten by a corpse, and he himself, despite the cacophony surrounding them, he found was nearly as sharply aroused as Mitaka. All that rampaging life was gone. Sprawled on his back and unmoving, staining the snow, the man seemed riper and more lush than ever. As if he had been served up this way by a universe that had grown just as sick of him as the officers who had been sent for him.

Hux would never forget gathering him up, that heart-quickening death-scent, the shimmer of congealing gore, how limp and silent his rival was. It was the closest he had ever been to him. Then his thoughts, of their own accord, began a brief saturnine romantic turn, as if he had something to be sorry for, as if the man had proved himself different by bleeding out from what he saw was at least one gusher of a wound. Offered himself, or at least offered his flesh.

It had been a day of madness.

"We'll sit with him," he told the others. "Alone."

"Yes, sir."

Once in back, air below them, Hux smiled and gestured him to open the black cloth, as if the knight's smudged and limp and torn-up corpse were an extravagant gift, for his loyalty or good work—or other reasons. Mitaka felt frantic to unwrap him.

"You love touching him," Hux said, his voice low and hot.

He could only give a nod in response because his breath was caught down somewhere in his lungs.

"Do so, then. Any way you would like. You're quivering for his cold flesh, aren't you? He is very tempting, isn't he? I've seen him; I've…thought of him, myself. He needed a good seeing-to, and too bad I never got to give it to him. Go on. He won't hurt you now, will he?"

In spite of Mitaka's lingering shame and trepidation, the shock of being found out, of being allowed, he found himself advancing again, drawn inexorably to the cold unmoving body. Before he could think, he was kneeling over him, his fingers brushing the blood-tacky mouth he had already learned so well.

Damp black hair was stuck anew to the dead man's slack face, and matted with drying blood despite Mitaka's earlier efforts. Mitaka once more licked the long cut, thinking how like decoration the slice was, rending his face, contrasting, making him look like the snow he had lain in. Tasted like salt and sugar and metal. Flecks of the dried stuff melted against his probing tongue. He suckled the clotting away, opening the soft flesh beneath, unhealed, never to be healed—he was so excited at this he worried about staining his front with his weeping pre-ejaculate.

"Keep going. Undress him. All the way this time. You want to see all of him, don't you?"

He nodded, dry-mouthed.

"You want to taste all of him."

"I-I want to lick him, sir," he confessed quietly. "He—his wounds taste good. His blood."

Hux came to kneel by Mitaka's shoulder, mouth brushing his subordinate's ear. "You'd like to rut against that big one, get his gore all over your pretty cock, yes?"

He moved the hand from Mitaka's shoulder to his waist.

"Oh, I'm sure it's very pretty. You could make him feel good, if you put it I his tight little pucker, if he could feel. But he never would have let you before, would he? No matter. Now he can't fight, can't fight your hands and mouth and cock. And he's so gorgeous for you, so gorgeous for us. All that blood, all painted up. Doesn't even know what a tart he looks."

Mitaka flushed deep, scandalized yet horribly turned on to hear Hux talk this way. He opened the clothes as slowly as he was able, wanting to linger on each bit of white littered with cunning little dark stars. Each curve of muscle and the sharp sculpted bone beneath. When he reached the abdominal wound, his breath hitched as he peeled the cloth off, ripping away clot and opening the pink and red and black mess. He traced his hand down that chiseled chest and over the stomach muscles, then dipped into the slime of his wound.

His cock was hot and hard. He could now see the soft violet beginnings of bruises around the gash, evidence of discipline, fortitude, and rage. Hux saw it too.

"He was very strong, very courageous." Hux snorted. "That, and pretty, at least. Go on, taste him, enjoy him."

Mitaka turned him over heavily, slowly. He ran a lingering hand down his sapling spine, moved his hair to place a closed-mouth kiss on his alabaster neck.

"Yes, that's it. Now let's see that pretty ass of his. Shame he tended to hide it so well."

Mitaka gathered the rest of the wet robes up, removed them, and placed them aside. He palmed the long broad ivory back, the shapely bottom, then worked around and opened the tight black leggings, eased them down. Now the knight was bare from the waist, and his tunic was a wreck. His pert peach-shaped ass was on vulnerable display, legs slightly open to accentuate it. Hux could not help running a finger lightly down the damp dark crack. Mitaka gasped.

Under Hux's gleaming eyes, he reached around to caress the slack prick, squeezed Lord Ren's naked ass and thighs as if tasting with his hands.

Meanwhile, Hux was methodically unlacing Lord Ren's thick black boots. It seemed he enjoyed this act, licking his obscenely pink mouth every few seconds.

With one boot off, Hux eagerly removed and discarded the sock.

"Very good feet, very well-formed," he commented, mostly to himself, caressing the sole, the instep, tickling insensate toes.

He made quick work of the second boot, then helped Mitaka peel the leggings the rest of the way off.

"Do the honors?" Hux asked, gesturing to the ruined tunic . Mitaka used his knife to cut the tatters of the garment away, his breathing hard and erratic. He took pains not to cut the flesh, preferring the wounds inflicted before their comrade's death. Bare, he was a vision, flawless.

Hux cupped a round succulent buttock in each hand. If he wished, he could lean down and lick him back there, kiss the pink crack and the small closed bud of his hole. Nothing could stop him, and he'd always thought of tasting this part of him. Though usually he imagined the man disgusted, unwilling, and ashamed of the filthy pleasure it brought him.

Hux touched his rival's clotted hair, pulled his head up. He cleaned blood from his calm (at last) face with a wanting tongue, restrained thirst. The tender ardor that sometimes infected him, for bare seconds, when he looked at the dead beauty, felt like an indulgence. He struggled with the urge to touch him some more before Mitaka eased into this. He shook himself and sat straighter.

"Do you want to turn him back over now? I know you like the blood."

"I like him… in back, too, sir. But I like the blood, yes."

They turned him. Mitaka saw that the beautifully-developed shoulder had sustained a deep equally beautiful cut. Another scrumptiious wound, which he stroked slowly, tracing his finger around the black clotted rim. He salivated at the way his wounds showed the ruby pulp of inner flesh, vibrant in the well-kept body, breaking its whiteness and symmetry. His face was turned to the side, his lips looked softened and open under the remains of the crust of blood. A feast of sight, taste, and texture.

Now Mitaka resumed kissing him with almost comical zeal, mouthing all over the corpse's lips, chin, nose, fucking his mouth with his tongue. He held his head up by a clot of hair in one fist.

"Gorgeous," he murmured, as he paused to breathe. He did as he had wanted before and kissed and licked the crusty eyelids, getting stray lashes on his tongue. "Such a gorgeous thing you are. I just love…"

Then he dipped back in and sucked along the stark gash across his face, licking it the way Hux had imagined licking the man's crack.

"You taste delicious… If only you knew…"

He began to kiss down his neck, wishing for a wound there too, a nice deep one to probe. Moved down his chest, over a big nipple, down to the bowcaster wound. He kissed the edges, then stuck his tongue inside.

"Oh. Oh, Lord Ren, I'd like to fuck you here."

"He can't stop you, you know. Why not do it?"

Mitaka looked up as if he had forgotten his superior was there. It was endearing.

In a moment his had his oozing red hard cock out (indeed, a pretty one, long and tapered) and was braced above the knight, thrusting against the length of the wide gash, penetrating, feeling the dead man's cooling guts and torn muscle on his sensitive shaft and head. And moaning shamefully loud.

Soon, too soon, he gave a weak little cry and his eyes widened and shut tight again.

Hux smiled to see him pull back, dazed.

Pearly fresh cum now laced Ren's syrupy wound. Without hesitation, Mitaka bent and began to lap it up, like it was a finely-blended sauce.

"Excellent idea, my dirty lieutenant. Taste good?"

Mitaka was a fetching red. "Y-yes."

"May I try?"

"Of course. Sir."

Hux bent forward and stuck the tip of his tongue into the mess.

"Salty. Tangy. You're good together, you and he."

"Oh." Mitaka looked like he might burst. "Sir."

"Come taste again." Hux indicated Ren's thighs and genitals as well as the freshly-violated wound. He liked the way the knight's long legs sprawled open drunkenly, ungainly.

He liked his pretty man's eagerness as much.

Mitaka bent low and set to laving th the long marble thighs with his tireless tongue and lips. Then he licked the innermost flesh of both thighs, he took the soft cock and the heavy sack into his mouth and moved, trying to rub himself against the smooth floor as he sucked and nibbled at unresponsive flesh. His round young ass clenched in his well-fitted uniform pants.

Hux resisted the urge to smack or grope it. Instead, he took the left of the big, handsome feet he had been fondling and turned his attention to its contrasting textures of smooth skin and callus. Both feet were just sweaty enough. He had his tongue out, and mouth on the knobby toes, before he knew it. After cleaning between each sweet digit, he licked up and down the sole. He opened his pants with one hand and maneuvered the foot toward himself with the other, sighing against the dry arch.

"I've got to—" Mitaka was now draped across Ren again, kissing him thirstily. "Got to have you."

"You mean to fuck our knight again so soon?"

"Sir—I—"

"Turn him again. Have his ass from behind, hold it up, see how nice and round. Or do him on his back. He won't mind." Hux smirked.

Mitaka looked down at the closed eyes, holding the knight's face in his hands. "I'm… I'm going to have him this way. I want to look at the blood. While I fuck him."

This time he looked less embarrassed.

"Do that, then."

It took some maneuvering before Mitaka had his "lover"'s legs lifted and spread to his liking, one weighty thigh in each hand, hips supported on Mitaka's own thighs. He kept taking little pauses to kiss and mutter over Ren. Babbling about his beauty, how he had to take him, again, properly.

Ren's sack and flaccid prick lay over his taint at a slight angle. His arms were spread in a numb, lazy manner. Come and slow viscous blood dribbled from his wound. His hair was drying into rich waves, falling back from his stricken, crusty face. He was beyond enticing. He would have hated it.

Hux wanted to rub his cock on that cool sullen mouth, over that distinguished beak, against those shadow-deep eyes. In that black engulfing mess on his now-quieted head.

Mitaka eased the man's heavy genitals aside, so that his delicately-ridged asshole was visible. It was the same as his nipples, a crepuscular rosy color. Darker-tinged, close in. Perfect.

"It could pinch getting up there," Hux whispered, "though I'm sure he's softened a bit."

"He—lotion, maybe?"

"There has to be lubricant here. It's a med-transport."

Hux rummaged in the large basic med-kit by the door leading out of the cabin they occupied. He chose a gloppy gel intended for inserting various… apparatuses… into sensitive places. He gave it to Mitaka.

"Have at him."

Mitaka took it slow, as much relishing the unique feel of the lukewarm, finger-soiling, oil-moistened passage as anticipating the nasty, satiny sheathe wrapped around his cock.

When he did finally penetrate Ren, it was deep and hard, hitting bottom on the first try —in more than one sense, as his balls swatted the smooth globes of Rens's lifted buttocks. He cried out in half-pain, half-ecstasy.

Then his thrusts grew in strength, maintained depth. Mitaka sighed into Ren as if about to dive, before slap-slap-slapping in and out of him, rhythmically, devotedly. Ren was bent back to the floor, nose and nipples up, his elegant spine and neck arched, his dead cock and testicles flopping with the increasingly frantic fucking. His head lolled to the left; curls fell over his cheek.

The unhinged handsome boy with his pants open and his lip between his teeth. The bloodied and beautiful dead man who had so recently been his hated co-commander, impaled on a slamming slippery cock. He slid past his lieutenant and touched Ren's cheekbone.

"What do you think if I rub my cock on his face?"

"S-Sir?"

"I want to come all over his pretty face. In his pretty hair. Wanted to for awhile. May I?"

"You—he's—it's really not—for me to say—sir," Mitaka tried to answer between thrusts, and Hux bared his teeth, just the seed of a laugh.

"You seem very… possessive of him."

"He's just—"

"I know. He's made for this."

He lifted Ren's head by the hair, as he'd wanted to do many times, especially when the insolent man contradicted him, or caused damage. He ran the head of his cock up Ren's stubbled jaw, liking the sting. He stimulated his dripping slit with the soft plushness of the knight's lips, the tickle of harmless teeth underneath. The lips were drying, but the pre-cum wetted them and made them glisten. He spent some long minutes tracing his head over the corpse's high sharp cheekbones and exotically large nose. He was tempted to open a socket and skull-fuck him, but he couldn't bring himself to damage those exquisite eyes. Instead, he only ran his head gently over blood-stiff lashes, all the while watching his man's crazed attack on Ren's unresisting round backside, which bounced back erotically with each blow of Mitaka's wild hips. The corpse's genitals continued to flail against his muscled belly, dark taint, and inner thighs, in a way that was both ludicrous and terribly arousing.

Hux moved down to rut his entire shaft against Ren's wide whorish mouth. They picked pretty ones for this sort of thing, this dark side, didn't they? Whore-pretty madmen for perverted masters. Yes. Likely Snoke would want their leftover thirds. Would use his apprentice in this way , as in all others.

Mitaka cringed in pleasure, rubbing Lord Ren's thick hard thighs. He'd stopped talking, hardly able to breathe. He was thinking how sweet and yielding, how the blood adorned him, how he was cooling, how open and ready.

The General had a fistful of the mass of hair and was rubbing it on his red cock, wrapping glossy locks around his shaft, his brow knitted. That hair must have been in his fantasies for some time. Mitaka fucked Lord Ren so hard he was sure he tore inside. He could not have enough of his smeared, chilly prize.

Then he watched the quick white long bursts from his superior's cock arching into the knight's hair, onto his eyelids, nose, lips. He followed as if ordered, gasping hard.

"What a slut, what a sweet pliant slut." Hux moved back, breathing fast. As he regained himself, he massaged the knight's numb feet absently. "If I had any more energy right now, I'd fuck between these sweet feet," he muttered, no longer in the least inhibited. If he ever had been, since catching his comely lieutenant suckling the pretty knight's carcass like nourishment.

"When I get it back up," he said, "I'll roll him over and devour that ass. And have it. If you—"

"Of course, sir. Uh. Enjoy him. I like—I want you to do it." Mitaka looked down again, "He's the—the—the most arousing thing I've ever seen. And—you too. I want to watch you have him. You're…"

"You find me attractive?"

"Yes, sir. I—I'm sorry, sir."

"No need. I—return the sentiment. Perhaps we can," Hux grinned wide, "do something about that. Later. Maybe you'd like me to lay all still for you, in my dress uniform? Or naked. Take a cool shower first?"

"Oh, sir. I'd-I'd love it. But isn't that—"

Hux kissed him hard, insistently, sucking the dead blood and eager spit . Mitaka shut up.

They moved together to the juncture of Ren's sprawled legs, where Mitaka's hot semen leaked out of the desecrated furl, mixed with something rusty that might have been more congealing blood. Neither could bring himself to think much about it, as they shoved the knight's thighs open to their widest, and held his thick ass up and open, and supped up the lieutenant's hot issue.

Not very long at all later, Hux was sliding ecstatically in and out of the supple suck of muscle between his rival's upthrust buttocks. He had him propped just-so on the rolled-up mat taken from the stretcher. His broad strong back bent low, his hair falling down in his dumbly lovely face, his arms dragging on the floor before him with every savage movement of his general's hips.

He'd licked him again, good and proper, from taint to tailbone, before putting it in him, indulging his desire to eat the man raw, face down, ass up. He had him placed him so that the highest point on his body was that sinfully, singularly fine rump. Now his hands moved from shoving his ass and hips further up onto his cock, to running along thighs and calves, to reaching back, groping and pressing those big sculpted feet. Every so often he muttered something nonsensical, "you pretty stupid whore, don't even know you're getting it, getting what you needed", "you delicious bastard", "sweet sweet slut of a cur", all the while using the raised plump firm ass like an expensive pleasure toy.

Hux was so much rougher; he showed their cold beauty so little reverence, only his lust was obvious. It was intoxicating to watch. Mitaka knew he should feel scandalized again, but his crotch was warm and the stirrings of another erection belied his higher mind's propriety. He watched his coolly handsome superior commit this salacious sacrilege, he watched it raptly, with a dry mouth, soon finding himself worrying his own sack, sensitive from his own recent orgasm.

"Oh, fuck, Ren," Hux rasped, "best ass I've had in—"

And he came in a gush that jolted his whole lithe body, then fell against Ren's back, still rutting slowly between the thick cheeks as he rode out the orgas

As soon as he rolled off, Mitaka scrambled to replace Hux's prick with his face and tongue. He cleaned Ren's dribbling crack like a cat, but with lewder delight than any feline. Hux lay breathing and watching him. He guessed they both might be dead too, tomorrow, the next day, before they could indulge each other outside this shuttle. He drank in his dark-haired subordinate's sensual depravity. There were minute twitches of arousal in his groin, but for now he was dry. He'd rest, and wait, ad then enjoy. It would be a long trip.


End file.
